


her eyes say yes

by holistic_details



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Gen, and the rest of the Warehouse crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holistic_details/pseuds/holistic_details
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now you have a ferret."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Season One

**Author's Note:**

> Leena once said that Myka has, and I quote: "a soft spot for the ferret". So obviously the thing to do was write a five chapter fic exploring that relationship.

Myka watches from a safe distance as Lattimer coaxes the squirmy animal into the bird cage.

 

She's still not sure why, if ferrets were as common an occurrence as Artie as said they were, there are no proper ferret cages around here. Do ferrets even live in cages? Enclosures? _Gardens_? And just what is she supposed to feed this thing?

 

Not that she's planning on keeping it. No, she is going to Leena's bed and breakfast, she is going to make sure Lattimer doesn't get them irrevocably lost on the way, she is going to call Dickinson, and then, after Dickinson gets back to her – which he _will –_ and she is getting on the first plane back to Washington D.C..

 

But it probably won't kill her to find out what it eats.

 

*

 

“Shouldn't – shouldn't you give it, like, a – a thing?” Lattimer hisses beside her, too loud and too close.

 

Myka adjusts her sunglasses and sidesteps away from him and the cage he's carrying. “Get in the car, Lattimer.”

 

“Your ferret – ”

 

“Stop calling it _mine_ , I'm going to give it away at the nearest –”

 

“What! You can't –”

 

“I can, too!”

 

“No, you – look, just give it a sock, or something, okay?”

 

That catches Myka off guard. “A sock?”

 

“Yeah.” Lattimer lifts the cage onto the backseat of the SUV and Myka cranes her neck to find a ferret scratching discontentedly at the metal floor. “Aren't ferrets nocturnal or something?” The ferret rolls onto its back and springs back up, nearly hitting its head on the perch swing. Myka aims a look at Lattimer, who ignores her with alarming ease. “It probably wants to sleep right now, and it doesn't have a pillow. Or a blankie!”

 

Lattimer looks at her plaintively and she sputters. “Ten minutes ago, it didn't have an existence!”

 

“Still,” he murmurs, and his voice is unaccountably gentle.

 

They load their bags and suits in silence. “I have a scarf,” Myka says finally. “It's...soft.”'

 

Lattimer only nods, and Myka waits until he's climbed into the driver's seat before rummaging for her scarf. She busies herself patting down the fabric, layering it and folding it back so it's as even as possible, and tries not to touch the ferret too much.

 

The ferret, of course, takes it as an invitation to play, and pounces on her hand, butting its head against her fingers, chirping excitedly all the while.

 

Nocturnal, my ass, she thinks, with a fondness she'll never admit to.

 

“Just don't poo in my scarf,” she mumbles gruffly, daring a light pat behind its ears.

 

*

 

She becomes aware of rattling as she's calming herself down after she – after Sam – she calms down quickly, is the important thing.

 

“What do you want?” she asks the disgruntled ferret, mostly to hear the sound of her own voice, reassure herself that she is real.

 

The ferret rattles the cage again and Myka is reminded again to get a more suitable ferret enclosure, or her new guest might get his paws caught in the bars trying to get her attention.

 

“Shouldn't you be asleep? I gave you my scarf and everything.”

 

There's a knock on her door and the innkeeper peers in. “Your whiskey neat,” she announces, and Myka smiles sincerely for the first time all day.

 

The alcohol burns pleasantly going down and Myka lowers the glass to find Leena crouched down in front of the ferret, cooing nonsensical words. The ferret chirps back, bouncing up and down.

 

“I didn't even know ferrets made sounds,” Myka muses. Another reason she's can't keep it, she's far too ill-informed.

 

“Sure do,” Leena replies easily. “They're also crepuscular, which means – ”

 

“Most active at dawn and dusk, yeah.” The words come out a bit brusquer than she intended, but Myka sets her chin defiantly. It doesn't matter if the innkeeper thinks Myka's a know-it-all, she won't be here long.

 

“Sleep fourteen to eighteen hours a day,” Leena adds, ineffably cheerful. “You'll be getting to know a lot about ferrets. They have a life expectancy of six to ten years.”

 

The ferret stops chirping abruptly, and stares at Myka with a remarkably skeptical expression for a non-human.

 

“And are they supposed to stink?” Myka asks, purposely looking away.

 

Leena laughs. “Yeah, you might want to bathe it.”

 

*

 

Pete the ferret knows how to pick the lock on his cage – the proper ferret cage, Myka gripes, the one she had made specially for the little devil so he wouldn't feel cramped.

 

Myka has no idea where he learned it, or how, but she's probably going to punch Pete the human anyway.

 

It should go without saying that when she comes home from a long, tiring day of chasing down Walter Burleigh's element statues, or the spine of the Saracen, or whatever fresh hell the Warehouse throws at her, the absolute last thing she wants is to deal with is a hyperactive rodent. (Technically, a small voice in Myka's brain pipes up, ferrets are part of the weasel family, so he's not a rodent at all.)

 

But Pete has an alarming tendency to pee in her shoes when she doesn't pay enough attention to him – At least I named him well, Myka thinks with a weary sigh – so, Myka drops her bag by the door, and gives chase.

 

The ferret watches her advance eagerly, bouncing in place as he chirps loudly.

 

“Can't we just have one day where we don't do this?” Myka complains as he scampers beneath the bed. Myka ducks behind him only to see him dashing out the other side.

 

“I have proper outside-cage time set up for you! I've explained this! Honestly, you're worse than the real - no wait! Not the –” He sinks his claws into wooden leg and clambers up until he's darting deftly in between hair brushes and jewelry boxes with barely any jewelry in them. “Dresser,” Myka finishes weakly.

 

Pete stops suddenly, looking back at her with an expression that gives Myka a bad enough feeling to rival human Pete's vibes.

 

“You _touch_ my bookcase and I will skin you!” Pete sets off like he was waiting for her cue and Myka yelps, sprinting after him. She catches him on the floor, halfway to the shelves, executing a tackle dive worthy of one of Pete the human's football heroes.

 

Myka gathers him in her hands, wincing when he digs his claws in too tight. Pete scurries up her arm like he always does, curling around her neck, chirruping smugly into Myka's ear. She giggles a little, because the whiskers tickle and he is really is very cute. She gives in eventually, untangling Pete from her shoulders and scratching along his sides where he really likes it.

 

(She'll never admit it, but it soothes her, having this bratty ferret that demands her attention in the evening, no matter near-death experience or easy snag and bag)

 

*

 

“Y'know, little no-name could've been my pet,” Pete muses, handing the ferret a raisin. Myka watches in amusement as Pete (the ferret) sniffs inquisitively at the fruit and, deciding it's worth exploring, chomps down on it.

 

“No way,” Claudia says, weaving in between the sofa and the coffee table, scooping up the ferret as she does. Pete (the human) makes a halfhearted sound of protest.

 

“Yes way,” Pete shoots back. “Myka actually shoved him at me as soon as he appeared, kettle and all.”

 

Myka aims a punch at Pete's shoulder. “I took him from you when we got to Leena's, didn't I?”

 

“So fast I thought the cage was on fire,” Pete agrees, smirking.

 

Artie snorts into his paperwork. “Hey!” Myka protests immediately. “I was still shocked Pete could tie his shoelaces in the morning, okay? I didn't trust him with another life.”

 

Pete falls back against the couch in mock offense, and Claudia's laughter rings out bright and loud.


	2. Season Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-between episodes.

Myka wakes to complete silence, and stretches happily.

 

This is her favourite part of the day, the solitude and silence that comes at five thirty in the morning. No one is racing down the hallway trying to get to the bathroom, no one is thundering down the stairs for breakfast, no one is yelling about artifacts and impending doom. It's serene. It's tranquil. It is Myka's time to herself before another long day hunting down objects that can wipe out humanity as easily as Pete wipes away the various foods that smear onto his face throughout the course of a day.

 

Her good mood lasts until she's standing in front of her closet and completing her routine ferret-check.

 

(Pete has developed a fondness for curling up for a nap in the hoods of Myka's sweaters, and Myka stopped having a problem with it the second she realized he was toilet trained. Now she mostly snaps pictures with her phone, shamelessly using his cuteness to distract his human counterpart at breakfast so that she can get the last croissant.)

 

Pete's not there.

 

It's unusual, but certainly not unheard of, for Pete to still be in his hammock-bed in the morning. She checks up on him, just in case, and finds him awake, breathing unevenly and eyes half-open.

 

Myka gasps, sharp and loud, but Pete barely twitches. She draws him gently out of his hammock-bed with shaking hands and wet eyes.

 

She cradles him in the crook of her arm and absolutely does not panic.

 

*

 

“I have the baby food,” Claudia says, hovering worriedly in Myka's doorway. She's still in her pajamas – she'd woken when Myka had nearly knocked down a shelf trying to get at _A Practical Guide to Ferret Care._ “I warmed it up, just like you said.”

 

“And I'll cover your inventory for Artie,” Pete (the human) says, yawning beside her. Myka aims a quick, worried smile at them both.

 

“Thanks,” she replies quietly. In her arms, Pete (the ferret) whimpers, and Myka finds herself crooning, rocking him gently.

 

“Got your back, partner.” Myka doesn't see Pete tipping the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat at her, but smiles all the same.

 

“Yeah, you take care of your overgrown rat. Leave the rest to us.” Claudia places the baby food on Myka's beside table. Myka hums a reply, watching worriedly as the ferret curls further into the warmth of her body.

 

“The vet'll be here very soon,” Myka promises, as Pete and Claudia's footsteps wander down the hall. She struggles briefly with opening the bottle one-handed – it's possible her hands are still shaky – then carefully dips her index finger inside. “She's driving in from Featherhead just for you. In the meantime, this book and a lot of different ferret websites said chicken baby food was the way to go, so that is what we are going to do.”

 

She encourages Pete's mouth open like the book instructed her, checking and double checking with her laptop to make sure she's doing it right. The ferret makes no attempt to try and taste it, like the book warned, so she places the food on the roof of his mouth.

 

Pete spits it back out at her, and Myka groans.

 

*

 

Kelly sweeps into her room, the picture of efficiency and compassion, and Myka feels the vice around her heart loosen.

 

She coos appropriately over Pete (still nestled protectively in Myka's arms), her stethoscope in the palm of her hand, and checks Pete's cage before returning to them. Myka is reassured by the way his eyes open wider as Kelly comes closer, though he doesn't even try to bat at Kelly's hand.

 

He squeaks when her stethoscope makes contact with his stomach, and Myka pulls away instantly.

 

Kelly arches an eyebrow at her, and Myka winces. “It – it's not cold, is it?”

 

“Myka, you saw me warm it up,” Kelly chides, and Myka ducks her head, embarrassed. “He's just being a big baby,” Kelly adds teasingly, stroking through Pete's fur.

 

“Just like his namesake. Pete,” she explains.

 

Kelly laughs delightedly. “That's perfect!” Myka grins back and lets Kelly place the stethoscope delicately against Pete's chest.

 

The examination is surprisingly quick.

 

“Just be careful with his diet over the next two days – the chicken baby food is great – and his stomachache will ease up in no time.”

 

Myka leaves Pete curled up against her favourite (and _only_ , thank you very much) stuffed bear, and showers Kelly with thanks on their way down the stairs.

 

*

 

The arrival of H.G. screws everything up.

 

And not just in Myka's professional life – although there is that, too, with Artie's distrust of the new agent (and Myka, subsequently), but also in her personal – not that she has any thoughts about Helena – H.G. – in her personal life in _any_ way, it's just –

 

Pete doesn't like her.

 

Not Pete the human, he's still dazed and vaguely lecherous from that time in London Myka doesn't like thinking about. But the ferret. Her ferret can't stand Helena.

 

Myka doesn't understand it. Helena comes into her room – well, she wouldn't say _frequently,_ but frequently enough, being as Myka is the only agent in the house who isn't deeply suspicious of Helena (Artie), deeply intimidated by Helena (Claudia), or a mixture of both (Pete).

 

There hadn't been any issues the first night Helena had dropped by, sometime after ten, knocking softly and peeking in somewhat sheepishly, hoping she wasn't disturbing and if she wasn't, would Myka perhaps like to share a cup of tea with her?

 

Myka had accepted, of course, with minimum blushing and stuttering (she hopes).

 

Helena had taken what would become her usual seat in the armchair by the window – maybe that was it? The ferret dearly loves that armchair, he'll drag all manner of bells and mirror toys and ropes and and toy cars (it's possible Myka spoils him, just a little bit) up there, and plays happily for hours on end while Myka fills out paperwork at her desk.

 

No. Myka dismisses the thought quickly. Pete the human and Claudia often lounge around in that same armchair at all hours of day for one reason or another, and Pete the ferret cuddles right up to them for scratches and the rare raisin or two.

 

“Maybe he's jealous?” Myka muses, just as Helena pauses for breath during _The Count of Monte Cristo._

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“My ferret.”

 

Myka only realizes she's said it out loud when she hears a rather pointed silence.

 

“If I'm boring you –”

 

“No! No, not at all, absolutely not!”

 

Helena arches an eyebrow and Myka sags. “I'm sorry,” she says. “It's just – _look_ at him.”

 

Helena looks. Across the room, Pete the ferret pounces on his favourite bell toy, chattering happily in the general direction of Mister Teddy, who both Myka and the ferret have a fondness for.

 

“Truly the most depressed rodent I've ever seen,” Helena says dryly.

 

“Weasel.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ferrets are actually part of the weasel family –” The eyebrow arches again. “Not that that's important,” Myka finishes weakly. “He just – usually, he's over here with me, trying to ruin the hems of my jeans, or something.”

 

“Perhaps he's simply being polite? After all, he must see that you have company.” Helena's lips twist like she's humouring her, and though malice is lacking from the expression, Myka stiffens.

 

 

Helena catches it quickly, sweeps up from the armchair and sits next to Myka on the bed, leaning in with a smirk. “Don't be cross,” she cajoles, grasping Myka's chin with a finger and thumb. “Come,” she says, her shoulder brushing Myka's with every breath. “I believe it's your turn.”

 

Myka accepts the book with a barely contained smile, and picks up where Helena left off.

 

*

 

“So I called Leena a while ago,” Pete starts, jerking Myka out of the monotony of the stakeout. He never can keep his mouth shut, she thinks, more amused than irritated. “She's _still_ stuck in traffic, can you believe that?”

 

“Wait.” Claudia and Artie are still retrieving the first edition of Kafka's _Amerika,_ so – “Oh, my God, is Helena alone with my ferret?”

 

It is well known among the occupants of Leena's bed and breakfast that Helena and the ferret hate each other, and have ever since Helena accidentally stepped on Pete's tail (“How did you even do that? Ferrets have such short tails!”) and the ferret retaliated by peeing on Helena's favourite leather jacket (“You told me he was toilet-trained!”).

 

“Oh, relax,” Pete rolls his eyes. “H.G.'s a big girl, she can handle not murdering a rat for an hour or two.”

 

“He's a _weasel_!”

  
 

*

 

It's a wonder they haven't actually fallen over from exhaustion.

 

Pete leans against her as they reach the top step of the stairs and Myka can't even summon the energy to shove him away, even halfheartedly.

 

“Later,” he mumbles, shuffling off to his room.

 

“Kelly,” she reminds him, and Pete grunts. He'll probably be asleep as soon as he's through the door. Maybe he'll jolt awake somewhere around dinner time, and remember to text her then.

 

She fumbles with the doorknob to her room, thinking vaguely how unfair it is to be so tired in the middle of a perfect summer's day.

 

She gets as far as dropping her bag by the door before she stops dead.

 

Lying in the middle of the bed in the middle of Myka's room is Helena, flat on her back, an arm draped over her eyes. On her stomach, gently rising and falling with her every breath is Pete the ferret, snoring softly. The sun shines brightly through the open windows, lighting them both from behind and Myka feels stress melting off her in waves.

 

She has just enough presence of mind to shut the door behind her. Her boots are toed off on the way to the bed, her jacket tumbling down somewhere next to them.

 

“Hey,” she whispers. Neither stir, and she smiles through a wave of fondness. “ _Hey_. You two.”

 

She grips Helena's shoulder and she wakes immediately, a vice-grip around Myka's wrist and wide eyes.

 

“Hi,” Myka says. Dark brown eyes blink slowly back at her, filling Myka with a kind of warmth unrivaled by Helena's sleep and sun warmed skin through a thin blouse.

 

“The hero returns,” Helena replies. Her voice is raspy, and Myka has never wanted to kiss her more – but she shouldn't, she tells herself, worrying at her lower lip. She really shouldn't. There are rules.

 

Helena takes the decision out of her hands and tips her mouth up to hers, soft and pliant.

 

“Hi,” she repeats, stupidly, when Helena pulls back. She licks her lips and feels Helena's soft breath of a laugh, cool and affectionate.

 

“Hello,” Helena murmurs. Pete wakes then, too and Helena shoos him away – though unless Myka's mistaken, there's a bit more fondness in her eyes than usual when confronted with the ferret. “Come here,” she tells Myka, and catches the side of her mouth with soft lips, moving and pulling so that Myka is lying beside her, flushed with the novelty of this new caress.


	3. Season Three

He hadn't let go of her, not once, during that long car ride to Colorado.

 

(She hadn't taken a plane, hadn't even thought of it until she was speeding along US-18 West, but then she'd been glad – there was no way Myka could have been taken high up above the clouds to look down at the world she'd almost seen destroyed.

 

Then, well into Nebraska, it had occurred to her that airplanes had very stringent pet-travel policies, they required forms to be filled out weeks in advance to transport cats and dogs, never mind unusual pets like ferrets.

 

She'd had to pull over then, stop and dry heave into the tall grass on the side of the Blue Star Memorial highway – the ferret wasn't her pet, he was a gift from the Warehouse, the last she'd ever receive because she was never going back, she could never go back.)

 

“Myka? Myka!”

 

She snaps to attention, blinking at her father's irritated expression.

 

“Yeah! I'll – uh.” She forgets for a second, what she's supposed to be doing, remembers just as he begins to speak.

 

“The classics –”

 

“The classics that came in today, I know.”

 

“Can you act like it, instead of staring off into space?”

 

“I'm going.”

 

He stops her, clearing his throat gruffly. “I'll take a few, we can do it together.”

 

“It's all right, Dad.” She prefers to work alone while she's shelving. It helps center her, helps her remember all the reasons she shouldn't be dwelling on the past.

 

“No,” he insists, pulling a few books out of the bin she's carrying. “Your mother has the till, I can spare a half hour.”

 

He might be feeling guilty, Myka realizes, surprised. “Dad, really, it's –”

 

Her father yelps and nearly drops the books, cutting Myka off mid-sentence.

 

“What the hell is that doing there?”

 

Myka looks down to find a furry little head peeking back at her between the piles of books.

 

“Pete!”

 

Myka shoves the bin at her father, snatching the ferret up before he can run away.

 

“Did he touch the books, did he eat them?” He squats beside the bin, rifling through the novels.

 

“No! No, he's really good about not chewing up paper,” Myka is babbling, focusing more on getting a good grasp on the ferret as he squirms in her arms.

 

“You'd better hope not, there are first editions in here!”

 

“I know! Look, I'll – I'll take him back to his cage, I don't even know why he's awake right now.” She heads for her room.

 

Her father's voice stops her at the foot of the stairs. “You named him?”

 

“Huh?” Myka looks down as the ferret noses into her neck. “Yeah.”

 

“After your partner.” Her father clears his throat, and now they're both feeling uncomfortable. “Is he – is he why you're here, right now – ”

 

“No.” Myka cuts him off, angry and a little shaken. It's been something of an unspoken rule in the house to not ask questions, and she hadn't expected her still-aloof father to be the first to break it. “No, he is not.”

 

(You mean _she_ , Myka wants to say. It's _she_ who –

 

 _She_ who stole Myka's heart with haunted eyes and a sweet smile and a broken psyche. _She_ who Myka had wanted and never got to have; _she_ who could have been everything, _she_ who threw it away with each strike of a trident against the soft tender spots Myka was fool enough to expose.)

 

She escapes upstairs.

 

*

 

The ferret doesn't look right in Myka's childhood bedroom above Bering and Sons, but she's done her best to protect her old momentos from sharp teeth and insatiable curiosity.

 

She keeps his food bowl stocked and his water bowl filled. There is an area cordoned off in the corner of her room where the ferret can run around when he's awake and wants to play, to stave off boredom – except apparently it's not doing a good enough job, if he had sneaked downstairs and into one of the book bins lying around the storeroom.

 

She sets him down as soon as the door clicks shut behind her.

 

“Stay,” Myka says firmly, straightening. Her voice rings hollow in her own ears, but she hasn't found a cure for that yet.

 

The ferret butts his head against her legs.

 

“Oh, go play in your ferret condo thing.” She gestures vaguely at the carpet-covered structure, one of the few toys she'd grabbed while leaving. “I spent like forty dollars on it.”

 

The ferret ignores her, choosing instead to wind himself around her legs. He chirps hopefully up at her and she bites her lip, thinking guiltily that she hasn't spent much time with him lately. She can't stop remembering every single ferret care guide she's ever read –

 

_your ferret will require four to five hours of playtime with you_

 

_it's important to establish a bond with your ferret as it makes them feel safe and secure in their home_

 

_your ferret will adore any one-on-one time with you_

 

Myka sighs, and crouches down to ruffle his fur. Pete chirps excitedly, bouncing under her fingers.

 

When he was younger, and Myka was still training him to not chew up her books, she used to hand-feed him kibble as a treat, and he'd react as enthusiastically as if she was offering him a complete Thanksgiving spread. She wonders if he'd still do that.

 

It's not until Pete is standing on her legs, resting his paws on her cheeks, and nuzzling into her that Myka realizes she's crying.

 

*

 

She settles in quickly, everything – the bed (with the same sheets still on, she'll have to change them), the walls (warm beige), the faint smell of vanilla that pervades Leena's inn – everything comes together and settles somewhere deep inside her, the long-lost feel of home.

 

Her ferret, on the other hand, scampers around nervously, nails skidding on the polished wood floor. Myka figures it's residual stress from the flight – which, if that's not an incentive to never leave again, nothing is; traveling with a pet on an airplane is exhausting for everyone involved.

 

Myka straightens the collar on her blouse, and prepares to return to the Warehouse. Pete chirps at her – in encouragement, she hopes.

 

*

 

He hasn't calmed down after Myka returns, he hasn't calmed down five hours later, when it's fully dark and everyone is supposed to be asleep.

 

Myka isn't asleep.

 

Myka would dearly love to be asleep, only her ferret is leaping around her bedroom, and knocking over any loose object that gets in his way.

 

Eventually she flips off all the lights, reasoning that if birds go to sleep in the dark, perhaps ferrets will have the common courtesy to do so as well. At any rate, it's worth a try; she's getting dizzy just looking at him scurrying around.

 

Myka sits on her bed and waits patiently for the skittering nails to silence as he realizes he can't see. There's enough moonlight for him to find his way back to his cage, if not one of Myka's sweatshirts.

 

That's when the doorknob turns, and Myka freezes. There's no light in the hallway, there's no need for it at two in the morning. Myka keeps her eyes on the shadow in her doorway and reaches over to flick on the lamp.

 

The warm yellow light hits Claudia, and she immediately raises a hand to shield her eyes. She's wearing a t-shirt and over-sized sweatpants – are those _Myka's_ sweatpants, the ones she couldn't find?

 

“Hey,” Myka says, careful to keep her voice even. Claudia blinks, running a hand through rumpled hair. Myka knows that hair, she's seen that hair many times before.

 

(Claudia used to come to her room sometimes at night, wide-eyed but quiet, body language screaming a desperate, proud sort of loneliness, the kind Myka understands all too well.)

 

“Pete's been really active today. Can you tire him out for me?”

 

(Because this is what helps, the knowledge and safety of Myka's presence and the distraction of the ferret. Or at least, that's what Myka's been able to piece together from the good nights – where she and Claudia and Pete sat together in the middle of Myka's bed, Claudia and Pete engaged in tug of war, Myka filling out paperwork and keeping an eye on them both, making sure neither got hurt – and the bad, where Myka had to coax Claudia onto the bed and let her shake and not cry against Myka's side until dawn.)

 

This time Claudia doesn't head straight for Pete, this time Claudia stalks over to Myka's bed with wounded, red-rimmed eyes.

 

“I fell asleep and I woke up and I thought you were gone again.”

 

Then why had she come to her room? Myka can't help wonder. Claudia clutches Myka's old sweats in her fists, and understanding dawns at the same time as guilt threatens to drown her.

 

“I won't leave again,” she promises, suddenly, rashly. “I'm home now, Claud.”

 

“I will hunt you down and drag you back kicking and screaming if you ever try to leave again.” Claudia's voice breaks on the last word and Myka extends a hand.

 

Claudia latches on, and her eyes fill with tears, like this is the proof she needed, she's not crazy, Myka's back, she's not crazy, Myka's back and Myka's not leaving and Claudia is not crazy.

 

She crawls into Myka's side and Myka wraps her arms around her, thinks to herself how small these shoulders are, to bear so much weight.


	4. Season Four

“I hate ferrets,” Myka informs Pete's knee.

 

Pete groans, but she's pretty sure that's more because there's a table, several books, various office supplies, and Myka herself currently piled on top of him than a newfound ferret-hatred.

 

“Look, I'm not too wild about them either, but there's a table on top of you.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you're on top of me.”

 

“Not _willingly_.”

 

“Hey, guys, there's a table on top of you.” Steve's voice comes from the direction of Myka's doorway. Myka would look look up to confirm it's him, but as the newest addition to their team has so astutely observed, there's a table on top of her, and she doesn't think it's a good idea to bend her spine the required ninety degrees so she can see his face.

 

“Help us get this thing off, Poopypants.”

 

“Be nice to him,” Myka groans, trying for the fifth time to try and lift herself off of Pete with the arm that isn't trapped between Pete's stomach and the table. “He's our only hope. Steve?”

 

“Sure. Anything for you, Myka.” She's not sure, but she thinks she sees Pete stick his tongue out at Steve out of the corner of her eye.

 

With a grunt from Steve and a push from herself and Pete, the table (and all its contents) are off them.

 

“I'm going to knit you a scarf to thank you,” Myka says, scrambling to her feet. “Made of ferret fur.”

 

Steve barely blinks. “I'm sure it'll be very soft.”

 

“I like you the best,” Myka tells him. He smirks, waving as he backs out of the room.

 

“Don't have too much fun with the inventorying,” Pete calls. “And watch out for Claudia! You know how she gets in the Turing and Lovelace aisles!”

 

“I know!” he calls back.

 

“He knows,” Myka says at the same time, wrinkling her nose at Pete.

 

“I know he knows,” Pete replies, stretching. He presses a hand to his stomach and winces.

 

“Why's your stomach hurting?” Myka asks, pushing her desk back to an upright – if precariously so – position. “I landed on your legs.”

 

“Yeah, I know – God. It feels like somebody's stabbing me.” Pete grimaces. “I've been having these dreams – never mind.”

 

Myka frowns. “You sure it's not something serious? You should go see a doctor.”

 

“Just weird phantom pains,” Pete says, waving it off. “Also, I hate your ferret.”

 

“Nobody told you to play tag with him,” Myka replies archly, crossing her arms. “That's my thing.”

 

“Well, nobody told me that your desk was missing a leg!”

 

“I'm getting it fixed today! Which I _would_ have told you, if you hadn't barged into my room while I wasn't here, to play tag with a hyperactive weasel!”

 

“For, like, the millionth time, I didn't know your desk was missing a leg!”

 

“Yeah? Well, you knocked it over anyway with your – your great big, bumbling –”

 

“Hey, hey, hey!”

 

Myka huffs. “What did you think was going to happen when you aggravated my poor little ferret?”

 

“Oh, now he's the poor little ferret? How did your desk even lose its leg? And what happened to the hand-knitted fur scarves in our futures?”

 

“Steve's future.”

 

“Hand knitted _glove_ , maybe,” Pete muses, scratching his chin. “Barely any fur on the little guy.”

 

The little guy chooses then to pop his head out from beneath Myka's bed.

 

“I hate you,” Pete and Myka say simultaneously.

 

Myka punches him. “You can't hate him!”

 

“What!” Pete yelps and they begin bickering in earnest.

 

Neither of them notices the ever curious ferret go re-investigate the haphazardly propped-up desk.

 

 

*

 

“Do you want a family? Like – like a ferret wife and furry little kits?”

 

On the middle of Myka's bed, Pete pauses in his attack on his plastic bunny toy and tilts his head at her with an expression far too amused for Myka's liking. She rubs her – flat once again – belly self-consciously.

 

“I don't want kids,” she starts slowly. “I'm pretty sure I don't want kids. I mean, it's a lifelong commitment, the strongest and most important lifelong commitment in the world and I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that or if I'll ever even want that. And getting pregnant – Pete got me pregnant via artifact yesterday, can you believe that?” She sighs. “Getting pregnant was weird. But not necessarily in a bad way. I think.”

 

Pete the ferret chirps excitedly as Myka rummages in the drawer to bring out the well-chewed cut of rope they use to play tug of war. She sighs as Pete eagerly latches on to his end of the rope, pulling back halfheartedly.

 

There's a knock at her door and Myka looks up. Pete the ferret takes advantage of her distraction and steals away the rope.

 

“Hey,” Pete (the human) peeks in with a tentative smile. “Dinner's ready, you coming?”

 

“Yeah, I'll be down in a minute.”

 

“Mykes?” Pete shuffles nervously in place.

 

Myka breathes through a rush of fondness for him. “Pete, it's okay.”

 

“I – with the artifact yesterday – I know we didn't get a chance to talk but I wouldn't ever –”

 

“Pete,” she says firmly. “It's okay. You didn't mean to, and all the wishing artifact did was show us that we're a family, which we knew already. There's nothing to apologize for.”

 

He squints at her. “Then why am I getting weird vibes from you?”

 

Myka exhales. “Yeah, I think I have leftover hormones from the pseudocyesis. My body – ”

 

Pete's eyebrows jump so high on his forehead Myka has to stifle a laugh. “The what now?”

 

“False pregnancy.”

 

There's a pause as he thinks. “Does that mean you're gonna hit me more?”

 

“I'll always hit you,” Myka returns. It's not an _you're my little brother and I love you_ but it's the closest they get.

 

Pete grins, bright and easy, the way she's used to and Myka feels an answering smile on her face. “D'you know what's for dinner?”

 

“Do I?” Pete cries, and tugs her down the hallway at an alarming pace. Myka follows (is dragged), laughing.

 

 

*

 

 

She's shaking when she comes back from the physical, trembling all over.

 

Myka – carefully, slowly – shuts the door behind her. She winces at the audible click, even though it's ten at night and no one is asleep yet.

 

The ferret chirps at her in the middle of the room, jumping into the air in a way that would normally make her laugh but right now the world is dimming around her and her heart is racing and she's far, far too overheated. She wants to pace around the room but the dizziness prevents her, she wants to sit down but the nearest seat is a good two feet away and Myka can't make herself walk that far, she just can't.

 

She slips to the floor, back pressed hard against the closed door and breathes, just breathes gasping in air again and again.

 

Something bounces off her bent knee and she looks down to see an unopened water bottle and a ferret nosing it into her leg.

 

It'll help, she tells herself, from some corner of her brain that is still functioning. Her shaking fingers twist open the lid while the ferret chirrups softly, continuously, soothingly.

 

The gulp of water is helpful, kind of. Keep breathing, she thinks. Pete nudges at a fist, nudging and nudging until finally Myka unclenches her fingers and strokes the soft fur on his head.

 

He climbs into her lap and Myka scoops him up, curling in on herself and holding him close.

 

“You saved my life, you know?” She mumbles it into his fur. “A few weeks after I first got you? If you hadn't wrestled the mouse away from me, I might not have accidentally clicked on on a baby names websites and I may not have named you after the most annoying man I know. And the sweetest, and the most loyal.

 

“You saved me from being trapped in a mirror forever. Have I ever – there's so much I haven't –”

 

Pete the happily named ferret chirrups into her neck, rubbing his head so that the whiskers tickle her.

 

“I've never even thanked you for that, what can I do to – ” He scampers off her, into Myka's closet. Myka stares after him, listening to the rustling inside in bemusement.

 

He backs out slowly, his raised tail somehow communicating mischief, a bag of ferret treats in his mouth and an expectant look in his eyes.

 

*

 

“Don't worry, okay?” Myka pets along Pete's side, staring at the door. “I promise you somebody will be around to take care of you if I – if.” Myka bites down on her lower lip.

 

It's midnight and Myka can't sleep.

 

“I should go tell human Pete about the surgery,” she murmurs, staring at her bedroom door. “I'm going to have to eventually, right? Wish me luck.”

 

Pete chirps against her neck, and Myka sucks in a deep, deep breath.


	5. Season Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote at the beginning from one of the stories in Sleight of Hand, by Peter S. Beagle.

“ _He put one long finger to his lips and pursed them, considering, before he started again. 'Let's try it as a riddle. I am not entirely what I appear, being old as time, vast as space, and endless as the future. My nature is known to all, but typically misunderstood. And I meet everyone and everything alive at least once. Indeed, the encounter is entirely unavoidable. Who am I?'”_

 

Myka comes awake slowly, blinking up at the stucco ceiling as she listens to the riddle.

 

The room is fairly dark around her; she thinks it might be late evening. Her head lolls to the side and Myka _aches_ , her entire body protesting the movement. A few blinks later and the shape huddled into a chair on the side of her bed becomes clear.

 

“Artie.” Her voice is raspy and her tongue is dry beyond belief, she doesn't have the strength to inflect the question into her voice.

 

He's holding a cup to her mouth at once, and Myka takes a few cautious sips. The water hurts, going down, but her tongue feels less heavy in her mouth, so she's grateful.

 

She's in a hospital, she's remembered that much by now, despite the analgesics that she knows are rushing through her body right now, but – “How long have I –?”

 

“A day.”

 

“And the –”

 

“Went well, they say.” Artie is brusque, more so than he was a few weeks ago, after the initial surgery.

 

Myka wonders why, but she doesn't have the energy to truly be surprised.

 

(She had fallen asleep halfway through the recounting of how Claudia took back the Warehouse from Paracelsus, all she remembers from that conversation is fear, and a fierce pride in Claudia. There was shame, too. Shame that she had been lying useless in a hospital bed, her own body pitted against her, while everyone else worked to stop another disaster.)

 

The book in his hands shuts with a muffled little thud. He must see her struggle to read it, because he holds it close to her, a corner almost prodding her cheek before he straightens it so she can read the gold lettering on red backing.

 

“You were reading to me.” Myka attempts a smile, and Artie clears his throat.

 

“Thought it might help. You know, because you like puzzles and that was a puzzle –”

 

“S'nice of you,” Myka murmurs, and Artie smiles at that, warmly if briefly.

 

“Claudia brought you a present,” he says, and Myka follows his gaze down to the travel bag resting beside her leg, a familiar face poking at the mesh screen.

 

“ _Pete_ ,” Myka rasps. “How was he?”

 

“Pining for you in the most destructive ways possible,” Artie replies dryly. “Trailer had to pull him off the drapes, he hasn't been quiet until we got here.”

 

Artie unzips the bag and Pete the ferret crawls out immediately, sniffing at Myka's pale blue hospital gown. He curls up into her side and promptly falls asleep.

 

“Sure, now he settles down,” Artie grumbles. Myka huffs a laugh, and Artie covers up his own smile by shoving his glasses up his nose.

 

“We'll know for sure in a few days, if the surgery worked,” Artie is saying, but sleep is creeping up on Myka and she can't quite keep herself focused.

 

She wants to thank Artie, for keeping an eye on Pete (both the Petes), for saving the world and still finding time to be here and read to her, but her eyelids get heavier with every blink and so she succumbs to sleep.

 

 

*

 

“I might just kill you.”

 

“I might just help.”

 

Pete winces. “I didn't _know_ , okay?”

 

Abigail crosses her arms and Myka huffs. “You didn't realize a ferret was in your pocket? How is that even possible?”

 

“Okay, first of all,” Pete starts, ticking off reasons on his fingers. “He slipped into my jacket pocket. Second of all, what kind of animal gets into somebody's jacket pocket? You don't see Trailer pulling that kind of crap. Third –”  


But Pete doesn't get to enumerate another reason because there's a sound like many things – many dangerous, artifact-y things – clattering to the ground a few aisles over and, after exchanging a wide-eyed look of surprise, the three agents set off running.

 

Steve greets them in Aisle Donaldson 333, glowering – or as close to it as the man gets – and covered in long pieces of thin, brightly coloured rope.

 

“Silly string,” Pete pronounces. He goes to help Steve remove it, only to be smacked backwards by Myka.

 

“We had an incident with that a few years back,” Myka says, holding out her gloves for Pete (because of course Pete's forgotten his back at the office).

 

“Yeah, I think Claudia told me,” Steve's lips quirk upward as he pulls the gunk off himself – he's still wearing gloves, Myka's relieved to note. “Less than thirty seconds before the Warehouse would've blown up, right?” Abigail's eyebrows jump to her hairline and Myka shrugs in a manner that she hopes conveys 'what can you do' instead of 'I still have nightmares about Mrs. Frederic's voice'.  


“How'd you get this all over you, man?” Pete asks, tugging off the worst of the silly string on Steve's back as Abigail works on the front, and Myka sets to work on his arms.

 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I think there's rats in the Warehouse,” he complains. “I saw one knock over the Lamorrise's original Risk board game – thanks, guys, I got the rest of it – and then a Tolkien artifact, and then, obviously, this.” He gestures helplessly to himself.

 

“There aren't rats – never mind," Myka says. "Which way did it go?” Abigail puts a hand on Myka's arm before Steve can do much more than point.

 

“Hey, are you sure you should be pushing yourself like this?” Abigail asks. “Dr. Calder said to take it easy.”

 

Myka sighs in thinly veiled frustration. “I'm fine now, guys. Seriously.”

 

(That's not entirely true; she still tires easily and she can't read for very long without the words blurring together on the page, but the last treatment was almost a month ago – the cancer is gone, she is improving and she will not be treated like a child.)

 

“Let's all go,” Steve offers, pulling the last of the silly string off his shirt. “We'll call Artie on the way and he'll get an exterminating artifact or something, and –”

 

“What? No!”

 

“That was Myka's ferret you saw,” Pete explains.

 

“How did –”

 

“Don't ask,” Pete and Abigail say in unison.

 

“What if he gets into the Dark Vault?” Myka frets, just stopping herself from bouncing on her toes in agitation.

 

“We'll get him. I think Claudia has a tracking technology thing up at the office –”

 

“There he is!” Abigail cries.

 

“Here, Pe – ferret! Here ferret,” Myka calls, and to the surprise of everyone, the ferret scampers back to Myka, standing up with his paws against her shins.

 

“Ha, safe and sound,” Pete crows. “I knew it!” Abigail and Myka exchange an eye roll just as Steve's Farnsworth goes off.

 

“Claudia, tell me we're done inventory for the day,” he says, grimacing at the view screen. Myka scrunches up her face in sympathy; the silly string artifact really reduces her enthusiasm for anything artifact-related, too.

 

“Guys, you need – no, what? It's only noon! Anyway, you need to come back to the office, all of you.”

 

“Claudia?” Myka asks, peering into the view screen. “Is everything okay?”

 

Claudia bites her lip, frowning intently at something on her desk. “Uh, it's nothing bad.” She glances up again, and winces. Myka frowns. “Well, _I_ don't think it's bad.”

 

“I believe she's talking about me,” a voice says behind Claudia, and Myka's ferret squeaks as her grip on him suddenly tightens.

 

 

*

 

Pete and Trailer have a good relationship, Myka knows this.

 

But as a responsible ferret owner, Myka also knows just how exasperating ferrets can be, and so she's obligated to keep an eye on them when they're playing, no matter how serene Trailer normally is.

 

And if it keeps her downstairs and away from a newly returned Helena sleeping upstairs, she's not going to complain.

 

“Come on, Pete, don't you want to play fetch? You love fetch!” She waves a tennis ball in front of him hopefully. Pete bats at it once, then flops onto Trailer's back. The dog thumps his tail on the hardwood floor once. Myka heaves a sigh and rests her chin in her hands where she is sitting, cross-legged on the living room floor.

 

“You're up early.”

 

Myka jerks, shoulders tightening defensively before she turns. “So are you,” she says. “I thought you were still upstairs.”

 

Helena smiles cautiously, a ceramic mug clutched in one hand. “I couldn't sleep.”

 

 _Why are you here?_ “Oh,” Myka says instead, and prays for either the ferret or the dog to suddenly become active and do – something, _anything –_ so long as it would distract from this horrible, awful silence.

 

Helena takes a breath, sitting on the armchair closest to Myka. “It's nice to –” She doesn't finish the sentence, instead takes another deep breath and a sip from her mug.

 

 _Does Nate know you're here? Does Adelaide?_ “To – to what?” Myka asks, because she can't stand the silence and that unnerves her more than she can say – she and Helena have always been able to communicate; through words, through fleeting touches in between Warehouse aisles, through shared smiles over books, through quiet looks from a distance. She scratches along Pete's sides, wanting something to hold.

 

Roused by her jostling, Pete crawls onto Myka's thigh and chirps at Helena, who smiles back.

 

“Has he been keeping you busy?”

 

 _Why did the Regents accept your return so easily?_ “Yes.”

 

“Are you ever going to ask me?” Myka thinks the question ought to have come out more artfully and less plaintively, but maybe it's a sign Helena has returned, for good. Maybe.

 

“Are you back?”

 

Helena blinks, stops fussing with the hem of her leather jacket. “Yes. For good, yes.”

 

Myka purses her lips. “That's all I need for now,” she says carefully, then stands. It's her turn to take a deep breath and she offers a hand, Pete curled firmly around her shoulders.

 

Footsteps clatter down the stairs before Myka has a chance to be surprised at herself.

 

“I'm getting the last of the Lucky Charms!”

 

“No way! Get in back, Donovan!”

 

Pete (the human) and Claudia rush into the kitchen with barely a glance at Myka and Helena, and the dog barks at them, finally getting to his feet and giving chase.

 

Steve and Abigail and Artie will be down shortly, Myka knows. Hopefully with a less exuberant entrance, although all bets are off if Pete starts making pancakes

 

(to protest Claudia finishing the last of their incredibly sugary cereal, he'll say, but secretly he loves getting the usually placid Steve and Abigail to bicker incessantly over who gets the first pancake.)

 

She starts to feel a bit foolish with her hand still reaching out for Helena and goes to retract it, only to have a cool hand clasp hers.

 

“Let's get some break –”

 

Pete the ferret scampers down her arm, over their joined hands, and up on to Helena's shoulder, chirping loudly.

 

Helena nearly shrieks, leaping to her feet and Myka rescues him before Helena flings him away, biting down hard on the laughter that wants to escape.

 

“Little _pest_ ,” Helena begins, brushing off her shoulder furiously.

 

Claudia pokes her head in. “Aw, have H.G. and Pete been reunited? That's so cute!”

 

“I haven't missed him,” Helena replies dryly, and Myka hides a smile in Pete's fur.

 

“Breakfast,” she reminds them, and Claudia sprints back towards the kitchen with a cry of _My charms!_ Myka squeezes Helena's hand and follows, smiling as she joins her little family to prepare for a new day.


End file.
